The Day After
by JenniFromtheBlock
Summary: The 36 hours after the last episode of season 5. Characters aren't mine, only borrowed.
1. Night

Cristina took another long drink from the bottle of tequila, and then handed it up from her sprawled location on the floor to Meredith, who lay flopped on her stomach on the sofa in her living room. Meredith grabbed it from her and took a big swig, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Stupid George," Cristina slurred, angrily.

"Stupid George," Meredith repeated.

"Who jumps in front of a bus? Who does that?" Cristina continued, waving her hands in front of her in awkward frustration.

Meredith turned over and looked at the ceiling. "George does." She sighed.

"Stupid George," Cristina said again, quieter this time. They lay silently for a few moments, contemplating the beige paint above. Meredith handed the bottle to Cristina, who put it up to her lips and drank down the alcohol as if it were water.

"I need cake. Give me some more cake." Meredith pointed to the coffee table. Without sitting up, Cristina reached up and felt for the plate of Izzie's chocolate cake, grabbed it, and passed it over her head to the sofa, where she saw a hand reach out and take it. They had found it in the freezer, part of Izzie's stash of frustration cakes that she baked when she was in a bad mood. Between the two of them, they had already demolished close to half of it. "Mmmmm," Meredith muttered, her mouth full. "Cake."

"George likes cake," Cristina said. She paused, and a tear fell out of the corner of her eye, sliding sideways into her hair. She amended her statement. "George liked cake," she mumbled, and turned on her side and contemplated the dust bunnies under the couch. Tears continued to fall, and soon her hair and the rug became damp from their wetness.

The sounds of the front door opening and muddled voices interrupted their inebriated reverie. Suddenly, an upside down Derek appeared in the entryway; Meredith's head had tilted off the sofa and she watched him enter into her distorted view. More footsteps followed, and Owen appeared behind him. Meredith sighed.

"It's you," she said.

"It's me," Derek replied somberly. He turned back to Owen and said quietly, "I was right—they're both here. Looks like some damage, but maybe not as bad as I thought. I only see one bottle." Owen nodded, and looked at the two of them sprawled in the living room with a concerned expression. Cristina hadn't noticed yet that he was there.

The men stepped into the room. "Can we get you anything?" Derek asked, moving forward and kissing Meredith on the forehead. He then spotted the cake, and a sad smile crossed his lips. He looked back at Meredith, who shook her head no.

Cristina wiped her eyes as the "we" slowly entered her consciousness. She turned to find Owen worriedly watching over her.

"Hi."

"Hi," he replied. He wasn't sure whether he should go to her or not. This seemed to be a private mourning between the two women; plus, he didn't know if it would be a good idea to reveal his feelings for Cristina in front of Meredith yet. They may not have had a chance to talk, and he knew Cristina would want to explain their relationship to her person herself.

"Okay then," Derek said. He hesitated, then pointed towards the kitchen. "We're just going to go have a beer. You call us if you need anything." Owen continued to keep his eyes on Cristina. It was clear she had been crying, and he wanted to hold her.

Derek stepped around the coffee table towards the kitchen and paused. "Stay up as late as you need to. The Chief gave both of you and Alex the next two days off."

Meredith had turned back over so that Derek was right side up. "Where's Alex?" Upon hearing the question, Cristina sat up from her spot on the floor and put the tequila on the table. Owen could see that two thirds of the bottle was gone. He hoped it hadn't been new when they opened it.

"With Izzie," Owen answered. "She's sedated, but she's breathing on her own and doing better. She should wake up tomorrow, if not earlier."

"She doesn't know yet," Cristina whispered, almost to herself.

"No. Not yet," Owen replied. They looked at each other for a moment before Derek continued out of the room and motioned for Owen to follow. Owen gave Cristina a sad half smile and turned to exit. Cristina thought of how Owen had lost not one, but 19 people all at once, and felt a little twinge in her heart. She didn't know how, with all the problems he did have, he had managed to not let the grief completely destroy him. And she knew that in a way, she now understood just a tiny bit of what he had been going through all this time. She turned, and watched his back as he left the room.

Derek leaned down into the refrigerator and grabbed a couple of bottles. He handed one to Owen, and they sat down at the kitchen table and twisted off the caps. "This is how they used to handle all their problems," Derek said, nodding towards the living room. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that something as awful as this made them revert to their old habits."

"Well, I know I got drunk not a few times after stuff happened in Iraq. It's one way of coping." Owen paused for a moment. He hadn't planned on talking about the war, and the thought had just sort of spilled out. Therapy was working a mysterious magic again; sometimes Owen found himself saying or doing things that a few months ago he never would have dared. Or maybe it was the comfort of being able to reveal himself to Derek, who was the only other person besides Cristina who knew he had been seeing Dr. Wyatt regularly.

Derek fingered the label on his beer bottle. "How are things going these days?"

"Up until this afternoon, they were going well. The therapy is slow, but I'm starting to reap the benefits. And with Cristina," he said, thinking about this afternoon, when she had told him she loved him, and when she said yes and kissed him on the bridge, "today was a really great day. And then George happened." He stopped and frowned into his bottle. "Do you think she'll blame me? I mean, for George joining the army and all?"

Derek sat back in his chair and watched Owen. The last thing Owen needed was more guilt over something out of his control. "No. Cristina's not like that. She'll see it for what it was. George admired you. You showed him his gift with trauma, and he wanted to follow in your footsteps. But in no way was it your fault that George tried to save a woman's life and paid the price for it."

"Bailey blames me."

"Bailey will get over it. Those five, they're like her children. She's losing one already, and now she's lost another unexpectedly. She's looking for someone to take her anger out on. She'll come around."

"Hey, McDreamy!" They started at the sound of Cristina's voice. "McDreamy, get in here!" Startled, Derek leapt up and moved quickly into the living room.

Cristina was sitting on the floor, now with her back to the sofa; Meredith had passed out on her side and was snoring softly. She waved the bottle towards her friend. "She needs to go to bed. She's drunk." Cristina hiccupped and took another sip of tequila.

"Yeah, well, she's not the only one," Derek said, stepping over Cristina and reaching down to lift up Meredith. Mer mumbled a little and threw an arm around Derek's neck. As he raised her, he turned to Owen. "She can stay here tonight, in Izzie's room, if she wants. Upstairs, first door on the right," he said, gesturing towards Cristina. Owen nodded, and sat down on the sofa where Meredith lay a moment ago. Derek shifted her weight in his arms, and gently carried her up the stairs and out of sight.

Owen looked down to find Cristina leaning her head against his leg. He reached over and twirled a few of her curls. She turned to look up at him with red eyes, but her crying had stopped. He took the bottle from her hand and put it on the table in front of them, then reached down and helped her up onto the seat beside him, where she immediately slid down into the crook of his arm and buried her face into his chest. He kissed her forehead and took her hand in his. They sat together and he held her like that for a long time.

At some point, Cristina's breathing became steadier, and Owen checked to see if she was still awake. She was, but just barely. "Cristina," he whispered. "Do you want to go home?"

"No." She moved her hand up and rested it on his chest.

"Do you want to stay here tonight?"

She nodded, not looking up.

"Can you walk?"

At his question, she sat up, more awake, and pushed some hair away from her face. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine. None of us is fine." He tightened his grip around her waist and stood them up together. She wobbled a bit, then found her center of gravity. She wasn't nearly as drunk as he thought. Either that or she could hold her liquor a lot better than he realized.

Upstairs in Izzie's room, Owen sat on the bed while Cristina dug through one of Izzie's drawers and pulled out an oversized t-shirt. She peeled off her top and Owen immediately thought back to the last time, the only time, he had seen her naked, weeks ago in the on-call room. He blushed slightly at the memory of making love to her, and was glad that she was too busy pulling on Izzie's t-shirt and shrugging out of her jeans to notice. She unhooked her bra and pulled it out from under the shirt, dropped it on the growing pile of clothes on the floor and climbed onto the bed next to him. At least she's not modest with me, he thought.

They leaned back against the pillows together and Owen tucked her under the blankets. She snuggled up against him and sighed.

"Stupid George," she whispered. "Stupid George had to be a hero."

"I know," he whispered back. "But he did what a good doctor does. What a good soldier does. What a great person does. He tried to save her life."

Cristina didn't say anything, but snuggled closer into him. He held her tighter, and breathed in her scent. They sat for a few minutes. After a bit, he leaned down and spoke quietly into her ear.

"I can't stay here with you tonight."

She looked up at him, still locked in his arms.

"You know that, right? As much as I want to, I can't. I would give anything to stay here, but I don't think I'm ready for it. Or you either." He frowned sadly, and touched her cheek. "I love you so much. But I can't stay with you yet and risk anything happening."

She could feel her eyes welling up with tears and tried to force them back. She knew he was right, but it still was one more hurt on top of everything else. She nodded. "I know. It's okay. We're not ready." She looked down again, and he felt a teardrop fall onto his arm. He hugged her tighter and felt himself tear up slightly. He had never been so frustrated with himself than right now, not being able to be there for her when she needed him. He felt weak, and unworthy of her.

"But, if it is okay, I can stay here with you until you fall asleep. If that's okay with you." He swallowed, hoping he would hear the answer he wanted.

Cristina turned her head back up to face him. She put her hand around his neck and pulled him down to her, kissing him once lightly, then once again, much deeper this time. If she couldn't have him stay with her, she was at least going to get a good kiss out of him to get her through the night.

She finally pulled her lips away from his, but kept them close, whispering to him. "Stay. Stay till I sleep." He nodded, and they slipped down into the bed, her under the covers and him on top of them, as close as they could be with the blanket barrier between them.

He lay quietly, listening to her breathe. When he thought she was sleeping, he started to pull away, and she grabbed at him.

"Promise me," she started.

"Anything," he whispered.

"Promise me you won't try to be a hero like George anytime soon. I need you too much."

He smiled slightly. "I promise."

She lay her head back down. "Good," she mumbled, and promptly fell asleep.

Owen tucked her in, and kissed her forehead. He shut the door quietly behind him as he left the room, and headed down the stairs.


	2. Morning

Cristina leaned against the kitchen counter, her head in her hands, listening to the coffee brew and willing her hangover to go away. She had slept late, but still felt sluggish, and resented the fact that Meredith had come downstairs all perky, despite the grim circumstances of yesterday.

"I talked to Alex. He was going to tell Izzie, but I convinced him to wait until we get there." Meredith pulled two mugs out of the cupboard and started to pour the coffee.

"Just let me have some coffee first. And I want to stop by my place and change before we go in to the hospital," Cristina replied. She blew on the hot liquid to cool it, and took a sip. It was scant comfort for her headache, but it was something. She went over to the table and sat.

Meredith leaned against the counter, looking at Cristina. "Owen didn't come over last night just to have a beer with Derek, did he?"

Cristina looked up, but didn't reply.

"Did he stay over?"

"No, he didn't stay over," she muttered.

"Good. That probably wouldn't have been a very smart idea," Meredith answered, coming over to sit across from Cristina.

"Don't start," Cristina warned.

"Don't start what?" Meredith asked, faking innocence.

"You know what. Just leave it."

"All I'm saying is that it wouldn't be very safe for you to let Owen sleep over."

"Look, do we have to do this now? Because I'm really not up for you grilling me about Owen. He was worried about me, and he was upset about George, too. You have Derek. Just let me have my person, too," Cristina replied angrily.

Meredith was taken aback. "I thought I was your person," she said softly, hurt.

Cristina looked up and gave an exasperated sigh. "You are my person. It's just that…" She paused, her eyes searching around the kitchen as if she would find an explanation there. "It's just that you have Derek, too. And I have…" she stopped, not sure if she should finish her sentence the way she wanted to. She threw her hands in the air in frustration.

"And you have Owen," Meredith said, finishing Cristina's sentence. "You think Owen is your Derek." She shook her head in disbelief. "After all that has happened, you think Owen is your Derek."

Cristina nodded. "After all that has happened, yes, that's exactly what I think. That's what I know."

"Cristina—how is that possible? What about the choking, the nightmares, the not being able to sleep together? You broke up with him."

"Meredith, Derek did and said so many horrible things to you, many of them on purpose, and you still love him. You love him because you think what you have is meant to be. Because no matter what he says or does, no matter what happens, you can't help but love him. You can't help it." She turned her eyes away, back to her coffee. "I can't help it," she mumbled, almost to herself.

Meredith sat back in her chair, watching Cristina. "You can't help but love Owen Hunt," she said, quietly incredulous. Cristina looked back up at her, her eyes pleading with Meredith to let it go. It was too early for this, and there was too much more to deal with than to have this confrontation now.

Meredith understood Cristina's silent appeal. This conversation would have to wait till later, but she wasn't going to forget it. She got up and put her coffee cup in the sink.

"Come on. Hurry up, so we can get to the hospital and tell Izzie her best friend is dead," she said, walking out of the kitchen.


	3. Afternoon

Owen did a double take in the hallway, sure that he had seen Cristina in scrubs enter a patient's room. Apparently even George's death and the Chief's direct order that they take some time off wasn't going to keep her from scrubbing in on a surgery. He walked towards the room and watched her with the patient through the window. He could hear her explaining the bypass procedure to the man in the bed in a completely clinical and professional manner that masked the sadness that he knew was swirling around inside of her.

She left the room in the opposite direction from where Owen stood, not noticing him, so he quickened his step to catch up with her.

"I thought you were taking the day off," he said, keeping up with her fast stride. She seemed to be moving at an unusually rapid pace, focused on her destination. She didn't look at him when she answered.

"Nope. I'm here and scrubbing in on a triple bypass in about 20 minutes."

He looked sideways at her, concerned.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Questioning Cristina Yang's ability to do her job was not something she was used to hearing, and it was guaranteed to piss her off. She stopped and turned to him.

"Is it a good idea? It's a great idea. Do you know why it's a great idea? I started my day with a massive hangover, followed by Meredith giving me a hard time about you, and to complete the hat trick, I got to go tell my friend Izzie that my other friend George, her best friend, joined the army and then was dumb enough to go get hit by a bus and die. So the only good thing that has happened today is that I'm going to get to hold a scalpel in my hand. It's a triple bypass and I'm not going to pass it up." Don't hassle me, she thought. First Meredith, now you? I need to cut something. She turned on her heel and kept moving down the hallway.

He watched her move away, surprised at her fierce reaction. Following, he quickly caught up to her again, but this time grabbed her elbow and steered her into the closest private room he saw, a supply closet just ahead on her left. He shut the door behind them and locked it.  
"What are you doing? I've got surgery," she said angrily.

"You just lost one of your closest friends. You are grieving and looking for any way not to think about it, and surgery is the best way you can think of."

"I grieved yesterday. I'm done grieving. I have things to do."

He moved closer to her, the hand on her elbow moving up to play with the stray tendrils of hair that had tumbled out of her loose bun. "I'm worried about you," he whispered. "I'm worried you're in denial about your feelings today. That you're not going to allow yourself to feel what you need to feel."

She laughed bitterly. "You don't know what you're talking about."

He stepped back, surprised at her response. "Really? Look at me, Cristina. Of all people, don't you think I know a little something about denial? Just a little bit? Look at the mess I made of myself over the past year, trying to ignore how I felt. It has taken me all this time just to even begin to get back a little of myself, and none of it could have happened without your help." He moved closer to her again, and took her hand. "I just don't want you to make any of the same mistakes I did. Let me help you now. Let me help."

Her frown softened, and she peered up at him into his deep blue eyes. "I just need to do this, okay? I need this. The distraction. I need to not think about George and Izzie and Meredith and all of it, even just for a few hours." She reached up, and touched his cheek, feeling the roughness of his beard against the palm of her hand.

He turned his head and kissed her palm, his beard tickling her lightly, and then let her go. He nodded at her and sighed. "Okay."

She stood there for a moment, looking up into his sad eyes, an ocean of concern, then stood on her toes and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "I'm okay. Really."

He nodded again, but she had already stepped around him and was out the door, on the way to the OR.


	4. Night Again

They sat on Cristina's sofa, holding containers of Chinese food, talking a bit about nothing in particular, but mostly just eating. Every few minutes Cristina would reach over with her chopsticks to grab some of his take-out and every time it made him smile.

"You certainly are eating an awful lot of my dinner for someone who claims not to like mandarin beef," he said, holding the little white box out of her reach at her most recent attempt to steal a bite. "No more unless you're going to trade. Give me some of your cashew chicken."

"Fine. Here," she said, trading boxes with him. "Yours is much better than mine." She stabbed into her new dish and took another bite.

Owen was content to sit with her thinking about nothing more than Chinese food after they long day they had. Their conversation in the supply closet had left him unsettled and worried over her for the last several hours. That, combined with meeting George's family at the hospital, had made for an exhausting afternoon. George's mother and brothers, still reeling from the tragedy of his death, were gracious with Owen, but clearly standoffish with him, influenced by the belief that Owen's mentorship and time in the Army were what had encouraged George to join in the first place. Owen was relieved that evening to get a text from Cristina telling him to come over and to bring dinner with him.

He watched her happily chomp away as if she hadn't a care in the world, sure that she couldn't be feeling as carefree as the impression she was trying to give.

"Do you want to talk about today?" He asked.

"What about today?" She responded, looking into her food rather than match his gaze.

"I don't know. Maybe about the fact that you got really drunk last night because one of your closest friends died yesterday but you still came to work and tried to act like nothing happened." He rested his chopsticks inside the container, then leaned over and put his food on the coffee table. He picked up his beer and took a drink.

Her eyes flickered up at him from under her lashes, and then back down to her food.

"Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier today. But I just don't want to talk about it."

Owen sat back against the couch and watched her. She squirmed slightly, wishing he weren't paying such careful attention to her every move. "Maybe you should. It might help. It's been helping me. In therapy, I mean. I talk about stuff in therapy, and it's not easy, but I do feel better afterwards."

"Well, that's you. I don't talk about things and that works for me." Cristina shoved the chopsticks into her now empty food container and put it on the table. She unconsciously licked her lips and he thought about how good it would feel to just lean over and kiss her. He shook his head slightly, as if to get the thought out of his head and set his mind back on the conversation.

"I didn't used to talk about things, and thought that worked for me, too. But it didn't."

"Why are you doing this?" She asked. "Why are you pushing me like this? I just wanted to see you and have dinner, and you won't get off my case, today of all days." She grabbed her hair and twisted it up into a ponytail, fastening it with the band that had been around her wrist. "Just stop, will you?"

They sat at opposite ends of the sofa, contemplating each other. Owen took another sip of his beer and put it down.

"Can I ask you a question?" He asked.

Cristina waited a moment, and then nodded. He took a breath, and let it out in a long sigh.

"Do you blame me?"

Cristina's forehead crinkled in confusion. "What do you mean? Blame you for what?"

Owen shifted uncomfortably. "You know. For George. Do you blame me for George?"

Cristina tilted her head sideways, still not understanding. "For George? Why would I blame you for George?"

"Because he joined the army because of me, because of my influence on him."

Cristina's eyes widened in surprise. "Is that what you think?" She said softly. "That I think it is your fault that George joined the army and then fell under a bus?"

Owen looked up at Cristina, but stayed silent. She saw a shadow of guilt pass over him. Reaching out, she took his hand in hers, and gently squeezed it.

"George dying is not your fault," she whispered.

"He may not have ever considered joining the army if he hadn't met me."

"And he may not have ever wanted to become a trauma surgeon, either, if he hadn't met you." She scooted closer to him and put her other hand on his knee. "What's the difference if he joined the army? George was a big boy and made his own decisions. He knew what he was getting into. Joining the army didn't kill him. Joining the army had nothing to do with him falling under a bus trying to help a pretty girl."

Owen focused on Cristina's hand around his. Cristina leaned down slightly, trying to draw his attention, but he seemed to try to avoid her.

"Listen" she said, forcefully, demanding his attention. "Look at me." Owen slowly raised his eyes to meet hers.

"George dying is not your fault. You didn't throw him under that bus. If you're going to start blaming yourself, you might as well blame the Chief for giving him the day off, otherwise he would have been at the hospital. Or blame Amanda for not flirting back with George when he talked to her. Or blame stupid George himself, for not driving his car instead, or for not walking more slowly so as to miss the bus, or for just wanting to do the right damn thing and help someone who needed it." Cristina reached a hand up and cupped his cheek, running her thumb along his beard. Impulsively, she leaned over and kissed him, then sat back, still close to him, and folded one leg under her.

"Is that what you thought? That because I wasn't talking to you about George that I believed him dying was your fault?" She asked.

"I don't know," he answered. "I just…I don't know. I don't know what I was thinking. I worry about you, and you don't always reveal much about your thoughts, so I try to figure it out on my own. My mind just started wandering, and…" He smiled wistfully, his sentence trailing off. "Maybe sometimes I get it wrong."

Cristina sighed, inching further towards Owen on the sofa and curling herself into the crook of his arm. She put her hand on his chest and he played with some of her curls.

After a few moments, Cristina spoke. "I'm not very good with feelings."

Owen looked down at her, waiting to see if there would be more.

"I don't like talking about feelings. It's too…" She searched for how to describe what she wanted to say. "People think I don't have feelings, that things don't affect me. But they do. Sometimes too much, so much so that I don't know what to say or do. So I don't say anything." Cristina turned her head up to look at Owen. "It's not that I don't want to talk to you about George. It's that I don't even know where to start. It's easier not to say anything. Can you understand that?"

Owen nodded, and wrapped his arms tightly around Cristina, hugging her close. She thought about how perfect this felt, snuggling into him, all safe and warm.

"I know you feel things deeply," he whispered. "That's part of why I love you so much." She smiled into his chest, and hugged him back. He continued. "Can you try to do something for me?" She looked up at him, hesitant to let this perfect moment go.

"When there are things that you aren't ready to talk about, you'll tell me, so I know to wait until you are ready. And when you're ready, you'll let me listen and love you the way you always have for me. Okay?"

Cristina nodded and slowly smiled. She felt giddy and flooded with love. She leaned back and looked into Owen's eyes.

"Is this called 'meeting you halfway'?" She asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

He laughed, and hugged her tightly. "Yes. This is meeting me halfway."

She giggled, and put her head back down on his chest. "Okay. Just so I know. I can do that."

"Good," he answered, contentedly. They leaned against each other happily for a few minutes until Owen sat up and reached for his beer.

"Oh," he said, "and when you eat all my mandarin beef, that's an example of not meeting me halfway."

"No, you shared your mandarin beef!" Cristina declared, giving him a light shove.

"Only after you stole half of it," he muttered, looking at her out of the corner of his eye and grinning as he took a drink. He was teasing her and she knew it.

Cristina grabbed the beer out of his hand and set it on the table with a thunk. Laughing, she climbed onto his lap and straddled him, pinning him in place. She leaned down, and kissed him deeply. "What about this?" She whispered, between kisses. "Is this meeting you halfway, too? Or this?" She asked, wrapping her arms around him and running a hand through his hair as she continued to kiss him.

"Mmmm," he answered, moving his hands up her thighs to settle on her hips. "This is more than halfway," he mumbled. She laughed, and pulled away from him slightly, leaning her forehead against his.

"I love you," she whispered.

He looked up into her brown eyes.

"I know," he answered, grinning evilly at her.

She shoved him and laughed. "See?" she said, pointing at him. "See? That's why I don't tell you things!"

Owen grabbed Cristina around the waist and pulled her to him, kissing her hard.

And for just a little while, all the terrible happenings of the previous day slipped out of their minds, and left space for them to be happy and in love.


End file.
